Hold hard, dye hear! cried the big ruffian, in a voice of thunder. I spose, parson, he continued, addressing the chairman, if I say much to you, I shall get it laid on thicker.
My good fellow, said the Rev. Eli, you have been most leniently dealt with. I am sorry for you on account of your brother, a most respectable man, who has always set you an admirable example, and
I say, exclaimed Jock, this arnt chutch, is it?
There was a titter here, but the chairman continued:
I will say no more, as you seem in so hardened a frame of mind, only that if you are violent you may be committed for trial.
All right, said the great fellow, between his gritting teeth; I dont say no more, only all right: come along, matey; we can do the three months easy.
There was a bit of a bustle, and the prisoners were taken off. The rest of the cases were despatched. The carriage called for the chairman, and on the way back it passed the police cart, with the sergeant giving the two poaching prisoners a ride, but each man had his ankle chained to a big ring in the bottom of the vehicle, where they sat face to face, and the sergeant and his man were driving the blackberry pickers to the county gaol.
What a dreadful-looking man! said Julia, as in passing Jock Morrison ironically touched his soft felt hat.
Yes, my dear poachers, said the Rev. Eli calmly, as one who felt that he had done his duty to society, and never for a moment dreaming that he had been stirring Fate to play him another bitter turn.
Part 1, Chapter VII. Pollys Surprise
Polly had been furtively gazing from the window several times on the afternoon of that market-day, and turned hot and cold as she had heard steps which might be those of some one coming there; but the cloud passed away in the sunshine of Tom Morrisons happy smile, now that he had come in, and she felt, as she expressed it, oh! so safe.
There, let me go, do, Tom, she cried, merrily. Oh, what a great strong, rough fellow you are!
No, no; stop a minute, he said here. I oughtnt to be smiling, for Ive just heard something, Polly.
Heard something, Tom! she faltered, and she turned white with dread, and shrank away.
Here, I say, he cried, you must get up your strength, lass. Why, what a shivering little thing thou art!
You you frightened me, Tom, she gasped.
Frightened you? There, there, its nothing to frighten thee. I have just heard about Jock.
Oh! about Jock, cried Polly, drawing a breath full of relief. I hope he has got off.
Well, no, my lass, he hasnt, and Im sorry and Im not sorry, if thou canst understand that. Im sorry Jock is to be punished, and Im not sorry if it will do him good. Arnt you ashamed of having a husband with such a bad brother?
Ashamed! Oh, Tom! she cried, throwing her arms about his neck.
Well, if you are not, I am, said Tom, sadly; and I cant help thinking that if old Humphrey Bone had done his duty better by us, Jock would have turned out a different man.
But tell me, Tom, are they going to do anything dreadful to him?
Three months on bread and water, my lass, said Tom Morrison, bread of repentance and water of repentance; and I hope theyll do him good, but Im afraid when he comes out hell be after the hares and pheasants again, and Im always in a fret lest he should get into a fight with the keepers. But there, my lass, I cant help it. Id give him a share of the business if hed take to it, but he weant. I shant fret, and if people like to look down on me about it, they may.
But they dont, Tom, dear, cried Polly, with her face all in dimples, the great trouble of her life forgotten for the time. Ive got such a surprise for you.
Surprise for me, lass? What is it? A custard for tea?
No, no; what a boy you are to eat! cried Polly, merrily.
Just you come and smell sawdust all day, and see if you dont eat, cried Tom. Here, what is it?
Oh,
you must wait. There, what a shame! and you havent kissed baby.
She ran out to fetch the baby and hold it up to him to be kissed, while she looked at him with all a young mothers pride in the little one, of which the great sturdy fellow had grown so fond.
It makes me so happy, Tom, she said, with the tears in her eyes.
Happy, does it, lass?
Oh, yes. So so happy, she cried, nestling to him with her baby in her arms, and sighing with her sense of safety and content, as the strong muscles held her to the broad breast. I was afraid, Tom, that you might not care for it that you would think it a trouble, and and
That you were a silly little wife, and full of foolish fancies, he cried, kissing her tenderly.
Yes, yes, Tom, I was, she cried, smiling up at him through her tears. But come your tea. Here, Budge.
Budge had been a baby herself once a workhouse baby and she looked it still, at fourteen. Not a thin starveling, but a sturdy workhouse baby, who had thriven and grown strong on simple oatmeal fare. Budge was stout and rosy, and daily putting on flesh at Tom Morrisons cottage, where her duty was to help missus, and nuss the bairn.